


These Ducks Don't Back Down

by Me_aGlorifiedPigeon



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Gen, Gladstone knows how to stick his foot so far in his mouth it's impressive, Gladstone’s luck, HDL are demigods, HDL are so far only mentioned really, Heavily Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lots and Lots of Original God Characters, Not Canon Compliant, Not entirely anyway, PJatO AU kinda, Past Relationship(s), Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-06 10:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16830712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Me_aGlorifiedPigeon/pseuds/Me_aGlorifiedPigeon
Summary: Gladstone's good luck is the reason he, Fethry, and the twins aren't solid rock statuary in a creepy fear garden.Della seduces the god Hermes with her mischievous heart and travel bound dreams.Donald still ends up being the single father.





	1. The Duck Cousins

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU that wouldn't leave me alone. I'm playing around with Percy Jackson logic and ideas but the gods will not be 100% faithful to the Riordan versions of themselves. Also neither will the monsters. We shall see. I'm really playing fast and loose with it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truthfully, Donald and Della didn’t know other kids couldn’t see the monsters and beasts around them until they pointed at a large man with a single eye in the middle of his face and said “He’s only got one eye,” and their father laughed uncomfortably and told the man, “Kids, am I right?”

Donald and Della were born to Quackmore and Hortense Duck. The day they were born, practically holding hands, Hortense scrunched up her pale, freckled nose and said, “God, I hope they don’t turn out like Scrooge.”

Hortense had no ill will for her older brother, no that wasn’t what she meant. Her biggest fear was that her children would wind up a broken family, like her siblings had before she married Quackmore Duck and began reveling in the close familial bond between he and his siblings. Hortense was the youngest of three, and her elder siblings had trotted off to their futures without a care in the world. They sometimes went years without contacting each other.

Hortense wanted nothing more than for her children to be able to rely on one another, and their families, should they ever need to.

Donald and Della were born into a close knit family, the second and third of Granny Elvira Coot’s grandchildren. They were raised by their parents, but all their summers were spent on the farm, and most of their Christmases, too. That gave the twins plenty of time to develop a sense of adventure.

Truthfully, Donald and Della didn’t know other kids couldn’t see the monsters and beasts around them until they pointed at a large man with a single eye in the middle of his face and said “He’s only got one eye,” and their father laughed uncomfortably and told the man, “Kids, am I right?”

At the time, they were seven years old, the second and third eldest of their cousins. That summer, when they went to the farm, they decided to test a theory. Abner Duck, their older cousin, was ten and learning how to help around the farm, feeding the chickens and “helping” to rustle up the three rather calmly stubborn cows. Donald and Della easily wrangled Gladstone and Fethry into an adventure, though Gus stayed behind to pig out.

Gladstone, Fethry, Donald and Della ran into the woods, Daphne Gander calling out to them to be safe and listen to Donald- long since realized to be the most cautious among his cousins. Donald followed Della, making sure Fethry didn’t fall and hurt himself and taking the brunt of the universal karma of Gladstone’s natural good luck. Della, meanwhile, forged onwards like it was a grand quest and they were heroic knights!

Finally, they wound up in the place they always wound up, a clearing where a few satyrs were celebrating the summer season with drinks and food. Della and Donald looked to their cousins, hidden as they were behind the bush. Della whispered, “Do you see goat men?”

Gladstone stared in awe at the sight before them, nodding emphatically. Fethry nodded too, ducking lower behind the bush and covering his mouth with both hands. Donald and Della exchanges a glance, and the four cousins began making their way back to the farm. Except suddenly, the floor tore open and a large demon dog came tearing out of the ground, roaring and screeching. Gladstone and Fethry screamed, and Donald’s throat constricted and he couldn’t make a sound, but Della roared, waving her pocketknife at the large black dog.

Somehow, they all survived.

It was safe to say that the four Duck family cousins could all see monsters and myths wandering about the real world, but no one else could. So, when Donald and Della escaped death by large sea lizard thing, and their parents didn’t, naturally no one believed them.

While Hortense had never wanted her children to wind up isolated from their family like Scrooge had, the way he dropped out of her and Matilda’s lives, she did believe that he was a good man with a sizable wallet. In such a case where Hortense were to die before her children were fully grown, she had written in her will that Scrooge be the one to care for them. Granny Coot hated this, as she had never seen Scrooge as a responsible man.

Donald and Della were ten years old when Christmases alone at the manor became the norm, sitting in a quiet and large living room, exchanging gifts bought with allowance saved from all year. (They’d had to beg for their first month of allowance for the first few weeks they lived with Scrooge, but he couldn’t hold out forever against those puppy dog eyes). But while Christmas became a somber affair, summer was still spent dropped off at Granny Coot’s.

Most summers, Donald, Della, Gladstone and Fethry went to the woods and explored, always with a parting “Listen to Donald!” from an aunt or uncle. Donald and Della, from their proximity to Scrooge, learned what everything they could see was, and explained it as best they could to their younger cousins.

”It’s an empusa!” Donald gaped once as they stared at a woman with one goat leg and one brass leg, her hair a blazing inferno.

”A what?” Fethry asked, confused. Whenever Donald said unfamiliar words, it always threw his cousins off.

”Empusa,” Della explained with a smile. “Basically, a vampire.”

”Let’s not get too close then,” Fethry shuddered, ducking lower behind the logs they were using as a cover.

”This is as close as any of us are getting,” Donald scowled. Gladstone darted around the logs, keeping low to the ground in the waist high grasses. Donald groaned in exasperation. “Except Gladstone, If he wants to try his luck like an idiot.”

"Can't understand you, don't care," Gladstone smirked, even though the four of them had long since worked out their own method of deciphering Donald's garbled mishmash of words.

"I curse the name of your father," Donald hissed.

Yes, Gladstone's luck kept him from being noticed as he snuck near the thing. And Della's breathing techniques kept Donald from having an outright heartattack when the young boy flipped out and drew the empusa's attention to them.

Don’t ever say the Duck family isn’t filled with incredibly brave souls.

However, Donald and Della grew up a little too fast for their younger cousins to keep up. Soon, the pair of them were going on adventure after adventure with their Uncle Scrooge, and summers at the farm became a thing of the past. Gladstone, too, stopped going to the farm eventually. And Fethry? Well, he always got left behind.

A few times, they’d get together and spend a night out on the town together. Donald and Della’s eighteenth birthday, Gladstone’s twenty first birthday, Fethry’s graduation, things like that. On one such occasion, the group found themselves in a beautiful garden on the side of the road, surrounded by strange statuary. They spoke a bit with the woman in charge, but before she could convince them to take a photo, Gladstone announced, “You’re Medusa, aren’t you?”

His luck had saved him when he heard the snakes hissing under her headscarf. The ensuing battle was quick and decisive- in that the Duck cousins ran the hell out of there before too long, deciding never to stay so long around fearful looking statuary again.

Della Duck met Hermes during an adventure. One of those adventures where they took a break at an inn, and Hermes had also decided to kick up his feet and do a bit of relaxation for once. They chatted, and both marveled at how well traveled the other was. Hermès was impressed with all the adventure tucked under this mortal’s belt. Hermes asked her named, and Della coyly told him to guess. He didn’t get it before Scrooge called for her, by name. They were heading off.

Adventure after adventure, it seemed for a bit that it was impossible for Della to go to a place and _not_ bump into Hermes. So they got to know each other. Della talked about her twin, and how close they were, and Hermes confessed that he wasn’t very close to his siblings. He’d probably never talk to them without his job. Della talked about her dream with stars in her eyes and a hopeful smile. Hermes listened with a bemused smile and a stuttering heart. It was the first time in a long time that the god felt like a giggling schoolgirl with a crush.

Hermes wasn’t liberal with his attentions, but he did fall in love quite easily and quickly. He perhaps got a reputation for being promiscuous due to the crowded state of his cabin at Camp Half-blood, but only three or four were his at any given time. The cabin was crowded because the unclaimed children went there. Because when no one else had a place for the outcasts, Hermes did.

When Hermes told Della who he was, she took it surprisingly well. When he questioned her, Della laughed and said, “I’ve known the Greek gods were probably real my whole life. I mean, there are Cyclops in my home town.”

Hermes was smitten. He didn’t introduce himself to Della’s whole family, but Della insisted she meet her brother and cousins, so he did. Color him surprised when he discovered they could all see through the Mist, a supposedly rare ability. Gladstone and Fethry were glad to meet him, but Hermes was met with a scrutinous glare from Donald.

“I can’t exactly give a god a shovel talk, can I?” Donald asked at the end of the night.

”Not with very much success,” Hermes admitted.

”Well, then I’m just going to have to ask you to respect my sister,” Donald scowled. “And trust that you’ll do it.”

”I guess that will have to do,” Hermes agreed. “But I do love her, if that helps at all.”

The Duck cousins were as thick as thieves. Sure, they didn’t all get along the best, but they were close. And when Della announced she was pregnant with a demigod, all three were excited for her. Of course, the excitement did die a little when they learned just how dangerous the world could be for demigods. But they vowed to protect the baby, and that’s what they would do.

Hermes didn’t visit as much, the gods suddenly putting him to work doing miscellaneous tasks, like they were nervous for something. He said his farewells, promised to come back once a year, and disappeared. Della wasn’t upset, and her cool head convinced her cousins not to hold too much resentment for the god.

One baby turned out to be three, and Della was ecstatic. In the months after she found out there were three, she began to plan with fervor. There was plenty of space at McDuck manor, after all, for three growing boys. Donald was excited too, helping her with the shopping and letting her bounce potential names off him for an opinion.

Hubert, Dewford, and Lewellyn (Donald had said no, but Della insisted) were welcomed to the world with quite the fanfare. Granny Coot, their aunts and uncles, their cousins, everyone came to McDuck Manor to welcome the babies home.

Della loved it, but she missed adventuring these past several months. So, when the babies were seven months old, Della took a ship and set sail, planning to chart the Sea of Monsters. Hermes had told her about it, and she couldn’t wait to see it for herself.

She never came back.

* * *

“Uncle Donald," Gladstone tested the title, stretching some of the sounds as he wrapped his lips around them. "Hm. You know, I think I prefer Uncle Gladstone."

"You're Cousin Gladstone," Donald deadpanned, glaring at his cousin. "Just like Fethry will be Cousin Fethry."

"And I'm okay with that," Fethry piped up.

"Can't understand a word you're saying, Double D, don't care," Gladstone smirked. He bent over the crib and studied the three cuddling infants that he hadn't seen since Della brought them to the manor seven months ago. The baby wrapped in a red blanket opened his eyes, squirming and beginning to fuss.

"Well, hello there Huey! Aw, he's just like a little Donald!" Fethry grinned, pulling the infant into his arms and rocking him. Huey settled easily, no longer getting too fussy.

"They're not my kids, don't say that," Donald said.

"Hi, little Donald!" Fethry cooed. Huey cooed back.

Gladstone studied the boat house around them. "Are you sure there's enough room here for three boys?"

"Of course there is," Donald huffed. "I'll make room."

"Okay," Gladstone sighed. "But if you need help, Granny Coot still has the farm. Cousin Gus lives there and he'd be willing to put in the work to keep an eye on them."

"I'd rather not," Donald grimaced. "Hermes said monsters like to prey on demigods. The less we sic monsters on our family, the better."

"So? What's the plan?" Gladstone asked, his gut twisting.

"If I need help, I'll turn to you or Uncle Scrooge. I'm not stupid, I won't try to do this all by myself- but for now I think it's best the boys and I stick to ourselves," Donald decided.

Gladstone nodded thoughtfully, his eyes skimming over the picture frames on the walls. He lifted one featuring the four Duck cousins as children, feet bare, pants rolled up to their scraped and muddy knees, and grinning faces caked in dirt.

"Can I keep this?" Gladstone asked. "It's from when we fought that empusa, right?"

"Fought? More like ran away from," Donald snorted.

"We could've taken 'em," Fethry said, full of confidence he definitely hadn't had at eight, when faced with the actual thing. The three of them laughed.

When they settled down, Donald nodded. "You can keep that, Gladstone. Take any photos you want. You too, Fethry."

Gladstone studied the wall. "I think I'll just take this one."

"I think I'm good on pictures of the four of us," Fethry smiled. "I have copies of all of my mom's family scrapbooks."

Donald laughed. "I'm gonna miss you guys. Maybe we should try and meet up more often."

"I don't know, I'm going back underwater in a week," Fethry mumbled, trying to think on when he'd next be coming up to the surface.

"Don't call me to look at weird things, Fethry," Donald warned, giving his cousin a stern look. Fethry laughed awkwardly, handing Huey over to him.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and get lots of chances to visit," Gladstone shrugged. "But I'm definitely gonna be Uncle Gladstone."


	2. Luck of the Draw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Really, Ma'am, he's lucky he survived. Mr. and Mrs. Gander both perished in the accident." Later, again, he heard his grandmother talking to one of his aunts, and she said, "Well, I suppose he's lucky he doesn't remember any of the events. Imagine remembering your family dying like that. Terrible." And again, later, at the end of another summer spent on the farm with his cousins, Fethry whined and said, "You're lucky you get to be here all year. I wish I could stay with Granny Coot." He'd gotten whacked in the head by his older brother, Abner, for that comment, but Gladstone hadn't reacted.  
> Gladstone was a lucky Duck. He wasn't so sure it was funny anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmmmmmmmmm. I'm not sure how happy I am with this chapter, but it was another idea that wouldn't leave me alone.

Gladstone Gander was the luckiest "Duck" in the family. He spent the summers on the farm and lived in that close warm bond they all had, then he spent the rest of the year in his father's mansion, living well and happy and spoiled. Goostave and Daphne Gander were a lovely couple, and they found time to spend as a family no matter how busy Goostave got. It only ever seemed to Gladstone that his father worked whenever he wasn't looking to spend time with him. Once or twice his mother had told him, "Oh, hush now Gladstone, Papa's in a meeting upstairs," but he never felt ignored, or out of place. And Daphne took him with her to a lot of her activities, as she had decided once she had little Gladstone to become a fulltime mother and switch her job out for things like weekly book clubs or yoga lessons.

It was like a little joke for Gladstone. His mother would ruffle his hair, call him a "lucky duck" and they'd laugh about it. Because it was _funny_. It was a joke that his maternal last name was Duck, and that "lucky duck" was a common colloquial phrase, and that Gladstone just seemed to be the luckiest person alive. After they laughed for a bit, his mother would then fix his hair, smoothing it all right into place. Then she'd tell him, "Gladstone, luck has always been on your side. That's why I know you're going to be a great man one day, so long as you set your mind to it."

So Gladstone was lucky. A lucky Duck, or Gander rather, in a long line of Duck family jinxes. Really he shouldn't have been surprised when he woke up in the hospital, blurry vision, body aching through the painkillers, and the doctor saying, "Really, Ma'am, he's lucky _he_ survived. Mr. and Mrs. Gander both perished in the accident."

Later, again, he heard his grandmother talking to one of his aunts, and she said, "Well, I suppose he's lucky he doesn't remember any of the events. Imagine remembering your family dying like that. Terrible."

And again, later, at the end of another summer spent on the farm with his cousins, Fethry whined and said, "You're lucky you get to be here all year. I wish I could stay with Granny Coot." He'd gotten whacked in the head by his older brother, Abner, for that comment, but Gladstone hadn't reacted. He'd only be there for as long as it took to set up a stable home for him with one of his uncles. A brother of his father who had volunteered to take him in once he finished moving back into the country.

Gladstone was a lucky Duck.

He wasn't so sure it was funny anymore.

* * *

"What do you mean you aren't coming to the farm this summer?" Fethry demanded in his slightly whining tone over the phone. "I can't be the only one stuck here with Abner and Gus!"

"Sorry, Fethry, see there was this girl who won a raffle for two tickets for a cruise around the Caribbean, but she didn't have anyone to go with, so she asked me! You remember Selena, the girl I told you about?" Gladstone asked.

Fethry sighed heavily, but he said, "Yeah, I remember Selena. You've been eyeing her for three months, and-"

"-and I was really hoping for a chance to ask her on a date! But then she asks _me_ to go on this cruise with her! You gotta understand, Feth, I'd _love_ to spend time with you, but I just _can't_. I can't just spit in the face of my good luck!" Gladstone exclaimed.

"Gladstone, what about those sea monsters? The ones that just go around eating people?" Fethry reminded, sounding more worried than he had any right to be in Gladstone's opinion.

"First of all, how many cruises don't come back, huh? Obviously they don't _always_ eat ships. Second of all, luck is on my side, you don't need to worry so much. Gods, you sound just like Don," Gladstone huffed, rolling his eyes.

"Well, maybe Donald has the right idea and we shouldn't be tempting fate!" Fethry argued. "Besides, you're sixteen, don't you need, like, permission from a legal guardian to leave the states?"

"My uncle's got it covered," Gladstone assured. "I'm going, Fethry, can't stop me now. Bags are already packed, and I'm on my way to the Caribbean!"

Midway through that very same summer, Gladstone and Selena found themselves on an island, their ship wrecked just miles off the coast, and a friendly woman making sure they weren't injured or sick before taking them to the authorities to report their accident. Selena's parents took a plane to make sure she was alright, and booked the first hotel they could find to spend a few days looking after her mental state. Gladstone's uncle sent the private jet to come pick him up and bring him back to Duckburg.

Gladstone's uncle asked what happened, and Gladstone repeated what he had heard Selena say, about a freak storm and a panicked whale. But all he could picture was the freakishly long tentacles of some undersea monster, all he could hear was the roaring in his ears. Gladstone stopped going on cruises for a while after that.

The next few summers mostly passed without incident. Gladstone never went back to the farm though, always telling Fethry some excuse about why he was too busy. He didn't want to be stuck on the farm with Fethry, looking for goat men ("Satyrs," a voice that sounded way too much like Donald corrected) and running from empusas. Instead, Gladstone spent his summers lying about his age and getting into casinos to make money.

After all, his luck was golden, wasn't it?

One such day, shortly after his nineteenth birthday, a woman walked up to him as he was about to make a bet. She raised an eyebrow as she studied him. "You look snazzy."

"That would be me," Gladstone smirked at her. "Mr. Snazzy."

"Funny," The woman smiled. "You look a little young to be in here."

"I assure you, ma'am, I am exactly where I belong," Gladstone chuckled. The woman nodded.

"My name is Tyche, what's yours?" The woman asked.

"Sorry, your name is Tiky? Like Spiky?" Gladstone asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

"Tyche, yes. And yours is?" Tyche looked amused as she leaned on her arms at the edge of the table.

"Ah, um. Donald," Gladstone said. He'd been going by his cousin's name since Donald turned twenty one, as it was easier than making up an identity to just. Borrow Donald's.

"Alright, 'Donald'," Tyche said, speaking like she knew the name was a fake. "I think you should bet on eight."

Gladstone glanced at the table. "Eight, you say?"

"Well, it couldn't hurt, could it? Eight's my lucky number," Tyche smiled softly. Gladstone studied the woman once more, the pink rose pattern all along her dress, the way her dark hair was curled all on one side of her head, the shimmering jewelry. She looked like any other woman in the room, except at the same time she stood out. Something was strange about her, but not a bad strange.

"Then I'll bet on eight," Gladstone conceded.

And the night only got better.

Later, when he was taking his winnings out of the casino, the woman went with him. She offered to take him to dinner, and Gladstone agreed. As they rounded the corner, the woman smiled at Gladstone and said, "Well, Mr. Gander, you really are as lucky as they say, aren't you?"

Gladstone stiffened, and looked at her with wide eyes. "How did you-"

"You're not very quick on the draw though. You'd think after so long being surrounded by monsters, you'd recognize a goddess when you saw one, hm?" Tyche raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow. Gladstone flushed, feeling ashamed even though he knew perfectly well there was no chance of recognizing someone he'd never even seen, let alone heard of.

"Poseidon is very sorry about that incident all those years ago," Tyche began. "I personally think he should get those children of his under control, but a cyclops doesn't seem to obey anyone."

"Cyclops?" Gladstone asked, not entirely understanding.

"You know, the accident with the train. When you were a child," Tyche explained. Gladstone paled. Tyche frowned. "Did you not remember?"

"I didn't think it had anything to do with monsters," Gladstone muttered.

"Well, usually mortal deaths _don't_ have anything to do with monsters. For some reason your family just defies the odds. I mean, four of you can see through the Mist. That's probably why monsters keep attacking you, to be honest. They don't really like being identified. It ruins their whole game plan." Tyche explained. Gladstone frowned.

"My cousin can see them. He says it's his bad luck that shows him all these horrible monsters and things," Gladstone said.

"Nobody has bad luck. There are those blessed with luck and those who are not," Tyche contradicted. "I'm the goddess of luck, I know these things."

"Have you met my cousin Donald?" Gladstone asked.

Tyche hesitated, her hands clenching and unclenching in fists. "Not really. But you're right. That boy has all the worst coincidences. Maybe it's a balance thing. Who knows?"

At that Gladstone lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You don't think I'm a jinx? That I took all his good luck?"

Tyche looked at him with a strange expression on her face. She chuckled and shook her head. "I don't really have all the answers, Gladstone. I might be a goddess of luck, but I don't exactly control all of it. I only sway it in my favor. Just know, Lady Luck is on your side."

With that she winked and vanished, right before Gladstone's very eyes. Left in her wake was a single pink four leaf clover, and Gladstone couldn't help but snort. Still, he tucked the strange little thing into his suit pocket, and off he went down the street.

* * *

Della's disappearance was horrible. It brought with it memories of enormous sea monsters, of screaming cruise guests, of Selena grabbing onto Gladstone's arm so tight it bruised. Della had stolen a boat her Uncle Scrooge had been crafting for her, and then she vanished to the Sea of Monsters. Her children were seven months old, they'd never know their mother, and their father was a god who could barely find time for them among all his divine duties. Even if Hermes was basically just the mailman of the gods.

Donald and Fethry and Gladstone had all come together to Donald's little houseboat for a few days to help Donald settle the boys down.

("Isn't this dangerous? Sea monsters got Della, they can get the boys, too," Gladstone pointed out after the first couple of days.

"I don't have the money to get a new place _and_ take care of the boys," Donald argued. "And I'm not going to go asking Scrooge for money right now. He won't give it to me, so I won't bother.")

Don't say the Duck family wasn't filled with daredevils. Fethry with his new undersea job, Donald with his little houseboat, and Gladstone? Well, he couldn't seem to stay afraid for very long either.

It was after Fethry had run out freaking about how much trouble he'd get in if he didn't get to the submarine in time to go to the lab, that Gladstone sat down on Donald's deck with a beer. He didn't much like the taste, but it was cheap, alcoholic, and Donald asked him to help childproof the boat, so... two birds with one stone. Ha. Birds. Their last name was Duck.

"I'm a lucky Duck," Gladstone chuckled bitterly as he stared at the sea. He was so sure he could see the tentacled beast on the horizon, swirling and spinning, roaring it's terrible, guttural, cry.

He didn't feel lucky.

He did his best to be helpful, but he really didn't do much for the boys until they were six years old, and Donald started asking him to babysit while he started to try and get better paying jobs. Gladstone really, really disliked babysitting three children with the godly gift of troublemaking and sweet talking. Gods-damned silver tongued Louie Duck got the three of them ice cream for dinner once. Donald was livid,but he gave Gladstone a pass because the kids were literal sons of Hermes. Gladstone was still a go-to for babysitting whenever he was in town.

"See, I told you I'd be Uncle Gladstone," Gladstone grinned as Donald exited the boy's bedroom after putting them to bed. Donald raised one eyebrow.

"Alright, then you can explain to them when they're all grown up how you're not actually my brother," Donald decided matter of factly. Gladstone shrugged.

"Easy peasy pudding and pie."

Donald rolled his eyes and wandered over to the table where Gladstone had stacked the envelopes that had come in that day. Donald sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair in that way he did when he was stressed. "Another letter from the school asking for donations for the arts program."

"You don't have to donate," Gladstone pointed out.

"Dewey loves the arts. If they have to shut down before he's allowed to start auditioning for plays, he'll be devastated," Donald argued.

"You said that about the sports program for Huey," Gladstone frowned. "You know, I think the boys are just fine, Double D."

"You don't know that. I already have to keep them home from school trips, and I'm too afraid to let them go on play dates if I've never met the family and been to the neighborhood. Yesterday I thought I saw a cyclops outside of Funzos. They _love_ Funzos," Donald groaned as he let his head fall back. "I don't know what I'm doing, Gladstone. If Della were here-"

"If Della were here, she'd be just as lost as you, Don," Gladstone argued. "You're doing a good job. Anyone would have trouble raising triplets by themselves, let alone triplets that keep getting attacked by harpies."

"You saw them today then?" Donald groaned, running his hands over his face.

"Yeah, the spray bottle came in handy, thanks," Gladstone chuckled.

Donald narrowed his eyes at his cousin. "The spray bottle never works."

"Guess I'm just lucky, then." Gladstone shrugged. Though, as Donald slumped in his chair with heavy exhaustion, Gladstone felt far from lucky. After a moment of pondering his own luck, Gladstone asked, "Donald, do you think I'm a jinx?"

"A jinx?" Donald asked, looking at Gladstone with a baffled expression. "Why would you think you're a jinx?"

"I mean. I'm lucky, sure, but everyone around me..." Gladstone pursed his lips. "I met Tyche, you know, a few years before Della met Hermes. She said that because we can see through the Mist, monsters don't like us all too much."

Donald blinked thoughtfully. "Wouldn't that make all of us jinxes?"

"Well I guess that explains why we're orphans," Gladstone snorted. Donald gave him a deadpan stare. Gladstone laughed awkwardly. "Too soon?"

"Always."

Gladstone and Donald sat in silence for a few minutes, Donald continuing to shuffle through letters, and Gladstone staring at his fingers as he tapped them mindlessly against the table. The only thing Gladstone could focus on was the oily black feeling swirling in the base of his stomach.

"Hey, I'm not gonna be in town for a while," Gladstone piped up finally.

Donald hummed in acknoledgment.

"I know I leave town all the time, but I mean it. I got an offer for a lucrative job across the pond. London sounds like a nice change of pace, is all," Gladstone went on. "I don't know if I'll come back this time."

"You're leaving?" Donald asked, looking very much alarmed.

"Yeah," Gladstone said. Something unclenching in his chest. "Yeah, I'm leaving. I think I need to take some space."

"What about the boys?" Donald probed. Gladstone glared at his cousin, resentment rising from the gross, ugly feeling in his gut.

"Well, Gods, I don't know, call their dad and ask for some divine child support or something! I'm just Uncle Gladstone, I'm not a father figure!" 

"Neither am I, but sometimes we need to play with the hand life had dealt us! The boys need someone to look after them while I'm busy, I need to be able to count on you! You're already off galivanting across the country half the time, you told me I could count on you for help!" Donald argued.

"If you'd just go to your precious Uncle Scrooge already we wouldn't have to deal with this! He's more than capable of taking care of the boys!" Gladstone snapped.

"I can't trust him with them, he sent Della off to her death!" Donald protested.

"Or maybe you chased her away, _Donald_ , with all your talk about responsibility and caution! Maybe Della didn't want to raise three demigods, and maybe it's just your bad luck that you got stuck with them in the aftermath!" Gladstone snarled, and Donald stepped back like he'd been physically struck. Gladstone's eyes widened, and he smacked his hands over his mouth in shock at his own words. Donald glared at him as tears gathered in his eyes.

"You think these boys are just another case of _bad luck_?" Donald demanded.

"I didn't mean that, Don, I didn't, I swear-"

"Huey, Dewey, and Louie are everything we have left of Della. Her whole legacy is those boys. And they are absolutely perfect, Gladstone, just the way they are. Demigod difficulties and all," Donald spat.

"I _know_ , I didn't meant to say any of that, I don't know where it came from, Don-"

"Maybe you should go," Donald decided flatly. And he turned away, going to check on the boys and make sure they were still asleep despite how loud they'd been conversing.

Gladstone stood alone on the other side of the door, awkwardly shifting his feet. Then, when it was clear Donald wasn't going to come back out and force him to leave, Gladstone hesitantly bid the little houseboat farewell.

Gladstone Gander certainly didn't feel very lucky.


	3. The "Ugly" Duckling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was almost ten years younger than old Scrooge, you know," Hortense used to say. "He got some fancy American coin and jetted off to find his fortune, leaving me and Matilda alone. Then she left me behind, too." Fethry didn't want to be left behind. He was deathly terrified of being left behind.
> 
> This time, Della left them all behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some irresponsible drinking and some suicide talk in this chapter so I'm upping the rating a bit.  
> No, Fethry does not attempt, and I definitely don't think he's suicidal. He just passes out in a river.

Fethry Duck was the baby of the family. Youngest brother, youngest cousin, youngest nephew. His brother Abner was a whole seven years older than him, and was already doing chores around the farm in many of his earliest memories. Cousin Gus was around Gladstone's age, but he was Cousin Fanny's son, a distant relation that Fethry couldn't really wrap his head around at such a delicate age, and yet- there was a divide there. He didn't feel connected to Gus like he felt connected to his other cousins.

Donald and Della were the bravest of the family. Or, at least, of Fethry's cousins. They were adventurers, and one of his first memories of spending time with them at the farm was of Della rescuing them from a huge demon dog and Donald shielding him from any potential attacks. But they were three years older than Fethry still, and they grew up so fast. Gladstone was Fethry's closest cousin. Fethry loved his company, as Gladstone was only a year older than him, and still so mature.

Fethry could feel Donald and Della growing up too fast for him. But Gladstone stubbornly stuck to their heels, and as long as Fethry grabbed on tight to his cousin's sleeve, he knew he wouldn't be left behind.

It was hard to know exactly where this fear of abandonment rooted from. Fethry had two loving parents, a loving brother, and a close knit family that spent whole summers together, as well as Christmases. But looking back on it years later, Fethry figured most of his childhood abandonment issues stemmed from the way his dear Auntie Hortense talked about her older siblings.

"I was almost ten years younger than old Scrooge, you know," Hortense used to say. "He got some fancy American coin and jetted off to find his fortune, leaving me and Matilda alone. Then she left me behind, too."

Fethry didn't want to be left behind. He was deathly terrified of being left behind. He clung tight to Gladstone's sleeve, and sometimes, when the older boy got annoyed with him, he'd tear up and beg, "Please don't leave me behind."

At four years old, Fethry had more abandonment issues than Donald's uncle, Scrooge, had coins. It was difficult to tell, as he grew up, if he had outgrown those insecurities or not.

Fethry saw Gladstone as more of a brother to him than Abner. Abner was so old he felt too distant for brotherhood. And the twins were just so impressive and good, he couldn't think of them like siblings. Not the way Auntie Hortense talked about her siblings. Not the way Dad and all the other adults interacted when they were together. Donald and Della were too flawless, even if Donald was hard to understand a lot of the time.

So, maybe Fethry didn't mind all too much when, one Christmas, Donald and Della didn't come to the farm. Maybe he'd asked, "Where's Auntie Hortense?"

Maybe he'd gently been told, "Auntie Hortense and Uncle Quackmore are dead, darling."

Maybe he hadn't really understood, and maybe Abner had scoffed at him and gone into a really rude and mean definition of what dead meant. But Fethry wasn't too upset. Especially not when Donald and Della were dropped off at the farm that summer in a fancy limousine, and Fethry had gotten to ask lots of questions about the skylight window, and the seats, and the partition divider. (He'd always been interested in gaining more knowledge.)

Maybe, when only two years later Gladstone's parents also died, Fethry had responded a bit more incredulously.

"But can't he just come live with us?" Fethry asked. "He can share my room. We'll be like brothers."

"You already have a brother," Abner said before their parents could say anything. "Three of us in one room is going to be annoying. And I already have to share my room with a toddler."

"I'm not a toddler!" Fethry protested.

"It's alright, Fethry," Lulubelle, his mother, said. "Gladstone's uncle is taking him in."

"But _Dad_ is Gladstone's uncle," Fethry argued.

"Well, kiddo, I'm glad you get along so well with your cousin, but Mr. Gander has a bit more room and funds. He's more than capable of taking him in," his father had said. And with that, the car went silent, leaving Fethry to pout over the injustice of it all.

Later he found out that Gladstone got to stay at the farm until his uncle finished moving. He called him lucky.

He didn't think that maybe that time it was Gladstone being left behind.

* * *

Fethry had spent a long time trying to fix the way he interacted with human beings, but by the third time he was able to calm a frightened pigeon or pet a wild fox he had discovered that he was simply not built for human socialization. He was much better with animals, and their wonderfully simple view of the world.

Animals didn't put on any airs, they were straightforward. No sarcasm, no passive aggression, no animal never meant the opposite of their actions. Fethry liked that a lot about them. He was of the firm belief that if you gave a creature love, it would respond in kind. That was how he managed to have winged horses following him around the park while he was trying to feed the birds after all.

Years later, when Fethry would meet Hermes, it wouldn't be his first run in with a god. Much like his cousin Gladstone, Fethry had bumped into gods before. Though, Fethry somehow bumped into way more. And some of the bigger names in the pantheon, too.

First there was Poseidon, who had stopped by to see who was feeding the two baby Cyclops abandoned in a warehouse.

"I check on all my kids," Poseidon started, after Fethry panicked and asked what he was doing in the warehouse. Fethry had, understandably, immediately added two and two.

"You're a god?" Fethry asked, surprisingly numb for his first meeting with the powers that be. Poseidon didn't look like much, to be honest. A sea-worn sailor, weary from years on his ship and not much time on land.

"Yeah, that's me. Poseidon, god of the sea, and earthquakes. Lord of horses," Poseidon explained, gesturing lamely at himself.

"Oh," Fethry nodded carefully. "So you just. Are the dad of like. All Cyclopses."

"I don't think that's the right pluralization, but English has always baffled me. But yeah, thats me. You can see through the mist, huh?"

"Uh, yeah. I'm Fethry," Fethry babbled.

"I know. Pegasi talk," Poseidon explained. "Well, to me anyway. You wouldn't really understand them."

"So you're really a god?" Fethry asked.

"Do you need me to make an earthquake to prove it?" Poseidon asked.

"Nah," Fethry shook his head. "I believe you."

And after a few more moments, Poseidon left, telling Fethry he trusted him to keep his two kids alive. He expected they had bright futures that didn't involve very much mortal eating. Fethry was a little disquieted at the thought that he could be eaten by his new Cyclops friends, but he pushed it aside.

(The two Cylcops ended up going under the sea when they were old enough to speak in unfragmented sentences about a year later. They’d bent down to give Fethry friendly kisses on his forehead, then disappeared to offer their aide to their father.)

But after that run in, Fethry could hear the Pegasi speaking to him as he fed the birds.

 _Pretty, pretty please, let me have the next slice of bread,_ one pleaded, prancing on all fours like it couldn't decide how to stand.

 _No, don't trust him, he's a greedy little snake, give me the next slice,_ another one argued, ruffling the feathers in its wings with annoyance.

"The bread is for the birds." Fethry decided there were weirder things to understand than horses. LIke the sublties of human interaction. "I'll get you apples later, and we can all walk around the park together."

_More walking!? I've never walked so much in my life!_

_Shut up! Apples sounds perfect!_

Fethry enjoyed the presence of the Pegasi, as they brought with them a kind of social niche that he hadn’t realized he was missing. He liked them much better than people, anyway. The horses only ever sought his apples and attention.

(The summer after that gift was bestowed upon him was the same summer that Gladstone called and said he was going on a cruise. Fethry had pouted the whole drive to Granny’s farm, and he had pouted when Mom and Dad greeted Abner, who had finished another semester of law school. Granny had apparently begun to rent stable space to rich people with horses, and Fethry was tasked with their upkeep.

It wasn’t nearly as lonely a summer as Fethry thought it would be.)

But Poseidon wasn’t the only god who paid Fethry a visit. He’d met Hades while the man was out walking his precious little dog, Cerberus. He’d bumped into Artemis and a whole squad of immortal teenage archers when he was walking through the woods at home. He once had stared into the eyes of Zeus himself, who he’d seen transform from an eagle and leaving a nest behind. But Fethry’s favorite god to speak with was Pan.

Pan was a god of the wild, and Fethry was nothing if not enchanted by such a subject. The majesty of wilderness flora and fauna was undeniable! And Pan got along well with Fethry too.

Then Della and Donald suddenly came back into his life, and Gladstone did too, and everything was better for a while.

* * *

“Donnie, Gladdy, Fethry, meet my boyfriend,” Della announced, her hand tucked in the crook of the strange man’s elbow. “His name is Hermes. He’s-“

”A god,” All three young men said the words at the same time, and Fethry grinned, even as Gladstone and Donald glared at each other.

”Seriously?” Della pouted.

”Maybe next time don’t start his introduction with his name?” Donald suggested wryly. “Everyone knows Hermes is the name of a god.”

”Some people name their kids after gods, okay!” Della protested.

”No one names their son Hermes, no offense,” Gladstone commented. “That’s almost as bad as Tyche.”

”Besides, he has that look in his eyes,” Fethry commented, and he had seen enough gods to recognize what he was talking about. “Like he’s seen more than anyone can imagine.”

”You’ve a keen eye,” Hermes said with a small, appraising smirk. He looked to Gladstone. “Don’t worry, I know my name is pretty outdated. It’s not as timeless as ‘Athena’ or ‘Artemis’.”

”Or Selene,” Della piped up, tucking her hands into her pockets. She grinned and said, “Maybe Hercules?”

Donald gave her a dirty look. Fethry decided not to pluck at that mystery. “So, Hermes, how did you and Della meet? And when?”

”When _didn’t_ we meet,” Della snorted. “Hermes has been stalking our adventures with Uncle Scrooge for the last six months. I see him at nearly every city we’ve rested at.”

”Every city?” Donald asked. “Even El Dorado?”

”El Dorado doesn’t count, we were camping.” Della rolled her eyes.

”I’d never have business in deserted cities,” Hermes shrugged.

”Isn’t El Dorado the city of gold? Damn, wish I got an invite,” Gladstone piped up.

”Be glad you weren’t,” Donald groaned. “We nearly died.”

”But we didn’t!” Della said.

”There wasn’t any gold,” Donald argued.

”No gold?” Gladstone pouted.

And Fethry lost his purchase in the conversation as the four around him began to chat about their travels and misadventures. He had nothing to add.

Fethry had fallen behind again.

* * *

Fethry was, admittedly, a bit drunk when the goddess of the hunt saved his life. Okay, a lot drunk. And he wasn’t suicidal, it was an _accident_.

”You can’t tell me you _weren’t_ trying to drown in the river,” Artemis argued. “You were face down and the river nymphs were freaking out.”

”I was unconcious,” Fethry argued. “That’s not _trying_ anything. Besides, I don’t want to die.”

”Then what do you want?” Artemis demanded. Her brother Apollo was fixing a remedy for Fethry’s terrible hangover in his kitchen, and the way the two of them had been talking earlier reminded him of Donald and Della.

”I don’t know! I guess I don’t wanna be alone all the time!” Fethry groaned, annoyed. He had no roommates, save for the stray cats he’d recently bought a litterbox for. He hadn’t seen Abner since their mother caught leukemia and died the previous year. And Dad was a bit more fascinated with the bottle than Fethry ever could be after last night.

”Well why were you walking through the woods, drunk? Didn’t anyone tell you that was irresponsible?” Artemis demanded.

”Well, sorry! Next time I’ll go out drinking with Dionysus!” Fethry scowled.

”No,” Apollo said, shaking his head as he wandered into the room. “You’re friends with Pan? Well, Dionysus is like the scary, rabid version of Pan, but like. Crazy. Don’t go drinking with Dionysus.”

The god of prophecy, music, and healing shoved a mug into Fethry’s hands. “Should help with the headache.”

”Smells like coffee,” Fethry muttered.

”With a hint of god healing magic, yeah,” Apollo shrugged.

”’Pollo. Scram. I’m lecturing,” Artemis said blandly.

”You don’t control me, Arty, I’m not _Dad_ ,” Apollo sniffed.

”Oh my _dad_ , you’ve got to be joking, are you still hung up on that? It was thousands of years ago!” Artemis groaned, rolling her eyes.

Fethry sipped the warm “magic” coffee as he watched the twin gods argue.

”You’re his favorite! Anything you ask for he just gives you! And what do I get? The leftovers!” Apollo complained.

”Do I ever complain about you clearly being Mom’s favorite? No! Shut up and get back in the kitchen!”

”I wouldn’t call that measly thing a kitchen, it’s barely big enough to turn around in. I don’t know how he doesn’t burn the house down just opening the oven.”

”I don’t care, would you just-!”

Fethry burst out laughing, making both gods look at him incredulously.

”Why are you laughing!?” Artemis demanded. “You almost died last night!”

”He’s crazy,” Apollo decided. “Maybe he _would_ get along with Dionysus.”

Fethry tempered down his laugh. “Sorry, it’s just. Donald and Della used to be just like you guys.”

”Used to?” Apollo asked.

Fethry shrugged. “I don’t know if they’re still like that, you know?”

Artemis glared. “Apollo, call Hermes.”

”Why?” Apollo asked.

“Yeah, why?” Fethry asked.

”Dont worry, Feth,” Artemis stayed, grabbing the man by both sides of his face. “I’ll fix all your problems. Just know, you’ve used up my dealing-with-guy-bullshit quota for the next hundred years.”

”What!? I needed that quota!” Apollo cried.

”Get a new romance counselor,” Artemis snapped.

After that, life changed pretty radically. Donald’s uncle Scrooge McDuck got him a job in a rather top secret underwater lab, Poseidon started paying him a lot more visits (along with his wife Amphitrite and their son Triton), and Fethry managed to meet an incredibly large sea monster named Cetus. Then there were other changes to be observed as well. Whenever he got time on land, usually a few weeks every six months, he and the other Duck Cousins all got together to go see Granny Elvira Coot.

Everything was going so well, and then Della had her baby boys.

* * *

Fethry grinned at the three baby boys, all wrinkly and pink and wrapped up in color coded blankets. There was Huey, the first one to come out, testing the world to make sure his brothers would be safe. There was Dewey, who had been so excited to pop right out that the doctor almost dropped him. And lastly, Louie, who had cried so weakly that the doctors rushed to make sure he wasn’t ill.

Fethry was the one holding Della’s hand during the births because Hermes was getting busier and busier with the gods, and Donald’s plane from Bahia had been delayed, and Gladstone has been “lucky” enough to get a game show slot tonight and he couldn’t just cancel that when he had been about to go on air. Scrooge likely would have done it but he’d nearly had a heart attack during the contractions a few hours ago and he was now on watch.

So Fethry Duck, the baby of the family, watched the three babies be born. For once, he didn’t feel left behind. He felt so connected to Della and her boys, having watched the doctors clean off his cousin’s blood off the infants.

And much, much later, when Gladstone finally arrived, and Scrooge was allowed into the room, and all three men cradled Della’s babies in their arms, Della woke up.

Fethry saw the love, and joy, and bliss in his cousin’s face as she groggily surveyed her infant boys. Della laughed. “These boys are gonna be something special.”

 _Demigods_ , Fethry’s mind supplied. They never did tell Scrooge that they could see through the mist.

”Aye, lass, they’ll be somethin’ real special. They’ll be yours, after all,” Scrooge smiled warmly. Della’s returned smile was bright as her uncle kissed her son (Dewey, he was wrapped in the blue blanket) and slipped the tiny thing into her arms. “I have to go, big day at the office tomorrow, but I’ll be back to bring you home when you’re permitted.”

“Thank you, Uncle Scrooge,” Della said.

As the door shut behind the old man, Gladstone looked up from where little Louie burrowed deeper against his chest. “Does he know?”

”No,” Della shook her head. “Scrooge doesn’t exactly _like_ demigods.”

Fethry frowned. “But didn’t Hermes say they’d have special powers? If you’re living in the manor, how’re you gonna hide them?”

”I don’t know,” Della confessed. “Donald’s the one who always has all the plans.”

”Is he? He lives on a boat and disappears to South America to galavant across the world with two deadbeats,” Gladstone muttered.

”They’re not anymore deadbeat than you are, Gladdy,” Della defended. “You’re just upset because Jose managed to out-con your good luck.”

”He’s never going to get anywhere in life, just watch,” Gladstone argued.

”He must be having such a good time in South America,” Della murmured, and Fethry saw something in her eyes. Something like what Apollo sometimes looked at happy couples with. Something like what Poseidon often looked towards the horizon with. Something like envy. Something like coveting.

For a moment, Fethry feared the future for these tiny, wrinkly little infants.

The next time he saw them, they were smooth, with round cheeks, and Della was gone. Her boys looked just like Donald.

This time, Della left them _all_ behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Apollo as seeming like quite a whiney god, tbh. Poseidon is kind of a wistful, sad, sailor archetype. And Artemis is an annoyed feminist.
> 
> I'm also hella nervous about how this chapter came out because I'm trying to paint a certain picture but I couldn't figure out how to get it into words, so...


	4. Why Donald Duck Doesn't Back Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No way I’m stopping now, Quackmore, that pompous PTA president has issued a challenge, and this Duck doesn’t back down!” Hortense exclaimed. It was the first time little Donald had ever heard the phrase, way back when all his homework could still be done in crayon.  
> Somewhere along the line, “this Duck won’t back down,” became “Donald Duck can’t back down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sat on this chapter for half a week, reread it thrice over, and I *still* can't figure out what's making me so unhappy with it.

“Hortense, dear, you really don’t need to do this,” Quackmore chuckled warmly as his ginger haired wife furiously beat the eggs into the batter with a whisk.

“No way I’m stopping now, Quackmore, that pompous PTA president has issued a challenge, and _this_ Duck doesn’t back down!” Hortense exclaimed. It was the first time little Donald had ever heard the phrase, way back when all his homework could still be done in crayon. It was also the first time Della heard it, as up until they were ten years old, they were practically inseparable.

“You’re a Duck by marriage, dear, I don’t think that’s going to catch on in the family,” Quackmore had said, with much amusement in his tone.

“You’ll see, Love,” Hortense smirked, her pale face covered in flecks of chocolate from the brownie batter. “Our little darlings will have more determination in their pinky fingers than I do in my whole body.”

Quackmore groaned, but he didn’t stop smiling. “You’re telling me our precious angels are going to be stubborn as oxes? I don’t see it.”

Hortense gave him a Look, and Quackmore laughed at his own joke. Donald just went back to coloring the fifty states on his map for class, and Della shoved her spelling list at him. “Am I right? Am I right?”

Donald shook his head and Della groaned, snatching up his and studying the words side by side. She snatched his red crayon, the very same he’d been about to pick up to color in Texas, and crossed out the five words she’d misspelled. “Hey! Give it back!”

“I need it!” Della argued.

“I need it more, you have a pencil right there!” Donald protested.

“And you have a bunch of crayons right _there_!” Della exclaimed, shoving the box of crayons off the table in her frustration. Donald screeched, and immediately their parents rushed over to calm their tempers.

* * *

Donald was teased for lots of things at school. He was not as well off as some other kids, he and Della almost never went anywhere without the other except for class, he talked funny thanks to his terrible speech impediment, and he was incredibly clumsy. He’d been in enough scraps with bullies to know how to fight pretty decently. At least, he knew how to properly make a fist so as to not break his thumb, and he was _fast_.

But this was the first time a teacher had caught him brawling with Nicholas West, and they called his mother. In the moment of distraction when Donald had noticed the teacher before Nicholas, the older boy had managed a solid hit to Donald’s face, and he was sporting a black eye now as his mother exited the office and bent down in front of him.

“Donnie, care to explain?” Hortense asked, her voice even and calm.

“He was going to hit me first,” Donald immediately argued, clutching the ice pack he held to his face tighter.

“I meant, why was this boy picking on you? What was he saying? And why is my son the only one who looks all banged up?” Hortense asked, a tiny, sad smile on her face.

“He said I talk stupid. I told him it’s stupid _ly_. Then he tried to hit me, and I was dodging okay, but then a teacher showed up,” Donald explained. “Am I in trouble?”

“Not with me,” Hortense said. “But you realize it looks bad when a boy with your temper gets into a fight?”

“But I haven't had a tantrum in a year,” Donald pouted. “And he started it.”

“I know, dear. We’ll wait to see what the school says about punishment or lack thereof. But honey, always remember you have McDuck blood in you, and McDucks are known for their tempers. You need to learn how to keep calm,” Hortense warned. Donald nodded.

“I’ll remember.”

“Good. Then also remember this: This Duck,” and she poked her finger in his chest, indicating him, “will _never_ back down.”

Donald swallowed, meeting his mother’s fierce gaze. Never was a big promise, but in this moment, looking into her eyes, Donald was sure he could keep it. “I won’t, Mom.”

"That’s right. Because you might be a foul tempered McDuck, but you’re also a Duck. And that means you forge your own way, alright? So what do we say, Donald?” Hortense asked.

“This Duck doesn’t back down,” Donald murmured, repeating the words she’d said a few years ago, in regards to a vicious PTA mom of all things.

Hortense lifted her pale, freckled pinky out to her son. “These Ducks don’t back down?”

Donald broke out into a grin, locking his pinky with hers. “These Ducks don’t back down.”

“I love you, baby,” Hortense murmured, and Donald repeated the sentiment as he hugged her, finally taking the ice pack off his face to properly complete the embrace.

That day was all Donald could think of, almost two years later, as some relatives lowered his mother’s coffin into her grave, right beside the one where they would then lower his father’s. Her headstone was smooth marble, one of the more expensive ones. Uncle Scrooge had paid for it. Della stood at his side, just as stone faced, just as dry eyed. They’d cried enough in the hospital, while Donald’s leg was healing, and Della’s head was being observed. They’d cried enough in the church, listening to the speeches and looking at their parent’s embalmed faces. They’d cried enough between those two venues.

Written on Mom’s gravestone was some dumb quote about everything that lives eventually returning to dust. What should have been written on her grave was, “This Duck never backed down.” Something that meant something to _her_ . Something that mattered to _her_ and everyone who would hear about her from then on. Donald hated that stupid fancy quote, and the stupid fancy grave, and he hated everything about the entire situation. He was angry, and miserable, and hurt.

Uncle Scrooge was a pale man who looked way older than Hortense, Donald couldn’t believe it was just a ten year difference. Hortense had looked pretty young for the amount of years her gravestone read, though.

“Donnie,” Della murmured after a moment of the twins examining their wealthy uncle. “What if Uncle Scrooge doesn’t actually want us?”

“He promised Mom, Del,” Donald reminded. “But if he doesn’t take care of you, I will. I swear.”

Della’s smile was worth every star in the sky.

* * *

It became something of a motto of Donald’s. He said it to Gladstone, when the boy got nervous about giving a special Valentine to the girl in his class. He said it to Fethry when the little kiddo was scared to go on a ride after he saw the size of it. He said it to Della when she went on her first date. He whispered it to himself before every Scrooge McDuck adventure. Because Donald Duck sees his challenges through to the very finish.

The first time he said it outside of the family, it was with Panchito and Jose as the three of them stumbled out on the street, each of them just a bit too tipsy.

“I can’t believe we got kicked out of a bar!” Panchito hooted. “Ah, Donald, you’re much more fun than you pretend you are, amigo!”

“Why did you let that guy goad you into a fight anyway? He was three times your size!” Jose exclaimed, gesturing with one arm widely, the other pinned against Donald’s back by Panchito’s arm. Donald unslung his own arm from Jose’s shoulder and lifted one finger in front of him.

“That no good rotten _bastard_ called us names,” Donald said, his words further from understandable as he slurred. Donald pointed at his face with a thumb. “And _this_ Duck don’t back down!”

“Pato? Qué?” Panchito asked, confused.

“No, no, not like the animal,” Donald giggled. “That’s my name. Donald Duck.”

“Donald Pato,” Panchito nodded sagely.

Jose chuckled out some random comment about the word being the same in both their languages for once, and as if the smaller man had made the greatest joke in the entire world, Panchito burst out in loud, raucous laughter. His two companions were not far off.

At the end of the night, when the spirits were wearing low, and their energy was dwindling, the three of them collapsed on Donald’s bed at the manor. Quietly, Panchito murmured, “Te quiero, amigos.”

“Mm, te quero, Panchito,” Jose responded.

Donald was already fast asleep between the two of them, and all three quickly passed out. To say Scrooge was annoyed to see Panchito and Jose the next morning would be an understatement.

(A few days later, Donald found himself pinned between Panchito and Jose, flustered beyond understanding, and Jose whispered into his ear, “I thought this Duck didn’t back down?”

As soon as that challenge had been issued, the three of them started a very sweet, and very confusing relationship. Unfortunately, it didn’t last very long.)

Suffice to say, their friendship lasted a very long time.

* * *

Their first meeting with Zeus was probably a bit underwhelming. He and Scrooge immediately began a pissing contest, and roped into the whole mess was Donald and Zeus’s son Hercules. Other gods came and went about the island, but they didn’t stay for too long. Della, though, spent the entire time hanging out with Selene, who seemed to immediately warm to her presence.

After the night, Della frowned and turned to Donald. “I think my boyfriend isn’t telling me something pretty big about himself.”

If Donald had been drinking something, he’d have choked. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, you can meet him sometime. But I’m a little scared at what he might be hiding, Donnie, what do I do?” Della asked.

Donald smiled softly. “Just ask him, Del. If you’re so worried, all you have to do is remember that this Duck,” and he patted her on the shoulder, “won’t ever back down. You want to know what’s up with him? Be direct.”

If Donald had known then that her secret boyfriend that was hiding things was in fact the literal god Hermes, he probably would have been a little more ticked off that Della never even thought to ask him if he had any relation to ancient mythological figures. Maybe another son of Zeus would have been able to get Hercules to leave him alone. Then again, Ares and Athena had just sat back and laughed as Hercules fawned over and praised Donald, so maybe another son of Zeus wouldn’t have bothered to do diddly squat.

“You always give the best advice, Don,” Della smiled warmly, leaning over in her seat to give her twin brother a proper hug. “Now get out of the cockpit or I’ll crash the plane on purpose just to scare you.”

Donald narrowed his eyes at her. They weren’t airborne yet, but he wouldn’t put it past her to get the plane in the air just to crash it back down. “You wouldn’t.”

“Right back into Ithaca,” Della threatened. “We’d be stuck there with Zeus and Hercules for ages until I could fix the plane.”

“Fine, fine! I’m going to a passenger seat!”

Della was really the only person who could make Donald Duck back down.

* * *

Donald Duck was tired, frightened, and all on his own. For the first time in the six years he’d been taking care of Della’s boys, he’d never once considered having to shoulder the burden all by himself. He’d never once imagined having to raise them alone. Granny Elvira was way too old now to even think about asking her to sit. Cousin Gus was so busy with the farm. Did Donald even know Cousin Abner’s current contact information? Now Gladstone had just walked out of his and the boys’ lives. Like it wasn’t enough that he was barely there to begin with.

“Boys? I didn’t wake you did I?” Donald whispered into their bedroom. They’d only just gotten a triple bunk, and they loved it. Not a single one of them stirred in their bunks, and Donald sighed in relief. He’d been worried that all the shouting between him and Gladstone might have woken them. Quietly, he exited, shutting the metal door behind him as he went back to the main room.

Donald sat himself down, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes. “This Duck won’t back down. This Duck won’t back down. This Duck…” and so on like a mantra meant to calm him down and steady his nerves.

Somewhere along the line, “this Duck won’t back down,” became “Donald Duck can’t back down.”

It didn’t help that Gladstone had announced his plans to leave for London on the very same day that Donald had lost _another_ job. Donald was so, so ready to just give up. Maybe the boys would be happier living with Scrooge, but-

But it was Scrooge who built Della that boat. It was Scrooge who let her sail away into a sea filled with monsters just because “Della can handle herself, she's a bright lass.”

Donald steeled himself. He wouldn’t give up. He’d find a job, he’d find a sitter, and he’d keep standing strong. _This Duck won’t back down_.

He told himself this as he bat away harpies with a broomstick. He told himself this whenever he found himself wishing he’d taken up Panchito and Jose’s offers to come up and try to live in America with him. He told himself this as he noticed gossip magazines talk about “retired” Scrooge McDuck. He told himself this when Huey broke his leg trying to do a triple backflip off the playground structure, when Dewey learned how to pick locks telekinetically (how!? Why!?), when Louie almost got expelled for running a secret candy selling ring that negatively affected three other students with horrible, horrible peanut allergies.

(Sometimes, Donald wished gods had something like child support, as he smashed his toaster over a tentacle trying to sink his ship, or sprayed water in the faces of hellhounds to keep them away from the docks.

Once, Hermes had stopped by and handed him a bronze knife, something about it being easier to get rid of monsters with something blessed by the gods. Then he said he’d been running ragged for Zeus and the other gods, and he’d be quite busy.

Donald didn’t see him again.)

Somewhere along the line, “this Duck won’t back down,” became “Donald Duck can’t back down.” He just couldn’t. If he backed down, it wasn’t just him, his pride, and his happiness at stake. If he backed down, how would he be able to support his -Della’s- kids? So when he felt low, and he felt like giving up, he told himself he _couldn’t_ , because of the boys, because they _needed_ him.

Donald Duck couldn’t, and wouldn’t, back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will finally, finally bring in the triplets, I promise.
> 
> UPDATE 3/5/19  
> I am finally making some headway on a version of this chapter I like- I've already tried to write like thirty different versions smh. Hopefully it'll be up soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I know that in March I promised that the next chapter was gonna come out soon, so.... here's some bad news, though I'm sure you guessed it! Uh, some stuff came up in my life. Um, my parents had gotten divorced when I started this fic, so things were already kind of weird... then my cousin killed himself. And, uh, then my uncle killed himself more recently, and long story short: I scrapped the chapter because it carried implications to a topic that was a tad too heavy for me to think about at the time, though /no/, none of the characters were going to contemplate or attempt suicide. So, work on the fic is coming along, but it's going to be really /really/ slow going. Sorry!  
> NOTE ADDED: June 13, 2019


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